Cricket Alley

            They all jammed into the nest, and munched. Jake had gotten the smaller, crispier fries, but he liked them more. Sandy took the opportunity to try to talk Sparky into building a nest over in the elm nearby.

            “You could put the ivy up, and use the milkweed pod sections, like you’ve always wanted.”

            “I just got back, Mom. There’s plenty of time to consider that, though,” Sparky said, and he licked the oil off his second fry, relishing it.

            “Could be a good option if they do go for this tree,” Jake said.

            “We talk about this a lot,” Cly sighed to Sparky, munching. “It’s getting a little old…” Then, she dropped her fry and scratched, just a little bit, near her neck.

            “Is it a flea?” Sandy asked her.

            “I don’t know… could be….”

            “If it isn’t, don’t.” Sandy lifted her back leg and picked at her side with her claws.

            “Don’t…” Jake joined in, picking at his neck. Then he gave in and scratched it well.

            Sparky began to dance from leg to leg as the others scratched themselves with abandon.

            “No. No. Nooooo!”

            Then, he went at his ears with a paw, and simultaneously, his side with a back leg.

            “Stop!” Sandy cried. The other three stopped. Then they began to pick at themselves again. Cly lifted a leg and nibbled at her foot.

            “Stop!” Sandy cried. “It’s the salt! It’s making everyone squirrelly!”

            They all did as she said, but stood stock-still, watching to see if others gave in, so they could get a few scratches in before Mom hollered again.

            With Sandy in the power position, in front of the sunflower at the back of the nest, they all watched each other, Sandy included, for an excuse to scratch from one of the others. It was a standoff. Jake took a deep breath, let it out, and the itchy moment had passed.

            “You know,” he said, “Cly starts in with this whenever we talk about accommodation.”

            They all began to nibble what fries were left, and Cly stayed quiet, there near the hole out. To her, it was just another example of condescension on the part of her parents. Sandy stayed quiet, but to her, the issue hadn’t been resolved. It was all new to Sparky. Jake continued.

            “I mean, it’s nice to have the fur she leaves in the bottom of the nest, at least. Makes the floor soft. But, I worry she’ll get mange.”

            “We know the signs of a tree falling,” Cly told them, “And, if they come to knock it down, we’d have even more time. Remember the noise they made when they took the branch away? They’d make even more noise than that. I think we just need to keep in mind where the exit is. Don’t abandon this!” she said, waving about the hollow. “We’ve been defending it all these months.”

            Sandy looked at her and said: “Raccoon.”

            Cly looked at her mother, and said, “What?”

            Sandy faced Cly, looking like she was having a conniption.

            “RACCOON!”

            Cly’s shoulders fell, and she sighed. Jake and Sparky didn’t know what to do. But all of them weren’t facing the hole to the nest. And Cly went-

            “YAHGGGH!”

             A raccoon had reached in and grabbed Cly well by the back foot, jerking her toward the door.

            He had a businesslike look on his face. He would throw the squirrels out, and take the hollow as his own. He had a turned-up nose which suddenly had Sandy latched onto it.

            The commotion in that hollow tree. The noise, muffled, feverish, was immediate in everyone’s ears. Sparky leapt past his mother and went for the invader’s throat, which, as everyone knows, is hard to locate exactly. Cly screamed and tried to curl back, and thus, got in Jake’s way. He made it past her to the hole. The raccoon did the ol’ ‘monkey with its hand caught in the jar of peanuts’ thing with Cly in the hole, but finally let go, because he had to deal with Jake, who, for lack of place to latch onto, went for the belly. Cly sat up and found herself alone in the hollow tree.

            The squeals and grunts and all the action continued amongst the branches just outside the hole. There being little known accord between the two species, it is only known that the raccoon simply squealed. Sparky shouted, “Dad!” and Sandy said, “He’s going…”

            But the other two weren’t so blinded by rage. The raccoon backed, with Jake attached, further into the thin branches of the ash tree, between Sparky and Sandy, who dangled to either side. The two watched closely as the combatants fell into the dark. Jake just shouted-

            “Hold still, dammit!”

            They could only see a bit of a light glow from them, which got smaller as it went thirty feet down, then it disappeared. There was a ‘thump’. A bit of grey moved below, and slowly crossed the length of lawn along the avenue, to the sewer grate, and in.

            “Check on Cly.”

            Sparky went into the hollow. Cly was near the entrance.

            “Sparky.”

            “Cly.”

            “Mom?”

            “There.”

            “Dad?”

            They both went out to the branches near the entrance.

            “You didn’t see him taking Jake.” Sandy asked Sparky.

            “He wasn’t dragging anything.”

            “Good.”

            Cly just whispered “Fell. Fell. Fell,” until Sandy said,

            “Okay. Fell.”

            They watched the lawn and the branches around them. The smell of raccoon was everywhere. They heard a rustling, and started.

            “Jake.”

            Sandy’s whisper was answered by a small bark.

            “perm.”

            Sandy and Cly went into the hollow, and Sparky kept watch.

            “Dad?”

            “perm.”

            And, there he was, crawling along a branch before Sparky. Sparky plugged himself into the hole, spun around and looked out. His dad said:

            “You have to get out of the way so I can get in or I’m gonna fall again.”

            They all skittered aside in the nest, and Jake crawled in, placing himself against the far wall. Sparky went back out, just next to the entrance, and looked out around.

            Anyone else would’ve thought that Jake was on watch, there in the back of the nest. His tail was up, and he glared toward the entrance. The other squirrels knew better, but he had come back, he was back, and he hadn’t gone away. To Cly, he looked like one of those perfect squirrel statues that people put in their gardens to fool the real squirrels. Sandy asked Sparky if there was anything.

            “All clear.”

            Jake jerked a bit, a kind of sneeze, and said,  “I don’t think he’ll be back.”

            Cly nuzzled Jake’s tail, putting the tip a bit more over his head, and asked:

            “Storytime?”

            Sparky put an ear beside the hole, and Jake began.

            “I had to let go when he bounced, and I bounced off him.”

            His voice was authoritative Jake, but he was sprawled, and alert only from the neck up. Sandy looked to Cly and shook her head. Sparky muttered outside. “Bouncing against bouncing…”

            “The ground went back down, and trees were going past.”

            Both parents had described that phenomenon to the kits. But this had just happened.

            Cly inquired, “Pellets flying?”

            “No denying,” Jake answered. “Then, the elm stopped next to me. I was floating.”

            “Floating,” Sandy said.

            “Floating,” Sparky said, just outside the nest.

            “Floating!” Cly whispered.

            Jake sighed.

            “I thought, ‘It’s nice to have the elm floating right next to me. It would be a good idea, to, like, grab it. Grab onto it, before things become real again.”

            Sandy snickered, and Cly gave her a sharp look. To which, Sandy just shrugged, and told Jake that that was a good idea.

            “A good idea!” Cly agreed.

            “Solid squirrel tactics,” Sparky said.

            “Then, I went from the elm to the ash tree, and now I’m here.”

            Cly said- “Wow.”

            “I’m here,” Jake said again.

            It was a question.

            “Yes! You’re here,” Sandy said.

            Cly elbowed Sandy, and Sandy began to preen Jake, looking for scratches or bites.

            “I knew to do that…” She told Cly, as she preened.

            “I mean, really!” Cly said.

            “…I’m a good mate…” Sandy preened Jake and didn’t find one scratch.

            Then, of course, all of the other squirrels preened themselves, finding a few small scratches, but no bites. Every once in awhile, though, they would look to check on Jake. He was stunned, but otherwise unscathed, with his tail alert, but his eyes only open for show. Then, he startled them with an- “Any?”

            Sparky knew it was for him, and answered, “None.”

            “Good,” Jake said. “I’d go to watch, but I can’t.”

            Sandy leaned to him. “And, you shouldn’t!”

            Jake mumbled, “And, I can’t.”

            Exhausted with that final effort, Jake closed his eyes. Sandy shrugged to Cly, and they both looked to the door. Sparky looked at them calmly. Suddenly, Jake said, as if it were day-

            “Never mind the dogs, son!”

            Sandy and Cly looked around rapidly. Jake’s eyes were still closed. Cly asked Sparky if there were any dogs outside.

            “Not one,” Sparky announced.

            Cly looked at her father and put her head at a twenty-degree twist, but Sandy said,

            “He’ll be alright.”

           Jake would wake, and keep watch in the back of the nest, until a couple of days passed. Then, he perked up, and things went on as before. The time came when the grass gave up, not accepting the rain, and stayed dry after the dew left, or the frost melted. The leaves fell, bringing things to an end, but, for the squirrels, the fallen leaves brought potential pleasant surprises that could be nuzzled up, and created potential storage places. Nature showed off with what little she had left for the season. A burst of color in the midst of leftover browns and greys. A sharp-smelling fecundity that would wait through the bitterness of the months to come.  The stingers became more aggressive around the rotting things on the ground. And the squirrels started using their tails to keep warmth, not to disperse it. When the scurry went to raid Oak Grove, they weren’t asked who they were. The squirrels knew that they were from Cricket Alley. They would just ask which one of them was the one who rode the raccoon.